Bayonets and Blood
by juggernaut715
Summary: T for violence. Alexander Anderson is stationed in New York, and finds the huddling figure of a vampire outside of his monk's quarters late at night. It is only on a whim he does not flay Seras Victoria alive, and instead brings her inside and out of the cold. Not romance. Will become slightly Family! later on, once Seras is bound.
1. Up Off the Street

**In this story Seras is in no way related to Alucard or the Hellsing organization; she's just a true, blue, Draculina. She was turned by another actual vampire, not one of the fake ones from Millenium. And she was only turned a few months ago.**

**This is not going to involve too much Alucard, but there will be a bit. Pip will be making an appearance. Haven't planned anything else, yet. **

**Hope you enjoy.**

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Father Alexander Anderson was walking home. After a long mass at ten thirty at night, he felt he deserved some shut eye. Home consisted of a typical monk's quarters near the church he gave sermons at. While he spent his week days killing heathens and vampires, he spent Sunday's doing this; actual clerical work.

Hellsing hadn't made any moves recently. The bastard Alucard was staying quiet. Life was pretty good for the Judas Priest. It was nearing 11:00; he'd stayed after the service to bid patrons of the church farewell, as was the duty of the presiding priest. He could see the monk's quarters just across the road. A small building, a stairwell leading up to its entrance, it was the bare necessities and nothing more. A bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen. The bathroom consisted of a bath-shower, a toilet, and a sink. Simple white tile covered the walls; a very generic look. The kitchen was stocked with canned food and contained a fridge stuffed with meat. Lots of meat. And the bedroom was a mattress on the floor.

It is simple, it is not much, but it is home while he is in America.

Oh, that's right. He's in America. The Vatican stationed him here for now, after Alucard and Hellsing went quiet for the past two years. There's plenty of Iscariot folk back in Europe to take care of them if they start trouble. Right now, Anderson was in New York City, Manhattan, dealing with domestic vampire troubles and handing out Easter candy. It _is_ Easter Sunday, after all.

As he steps up the stairwell towards the door, a faint whimper catches his ear. He frowns, turning slightly and straining to hear if the sound was real. A shuffling of cloth, another quiet whimper.

"Hmm." He hums, stepping towards the left side of the stairwell and looking down. Sure enough, a small huddling figure in a pair of tattered pants and a stained blue hoody is trying to keep warm up against the side of the stairwell and the building the stairs attached to. The Priest speculates if the figure knows that this is the home of a priest, and guesses no, they have no idea. A faint smile appears on his features, and he enters his home, thoroughly intent on aiding the poor soul outside his quarters.

A cup of tea, a blanket. He sets these items on the small kitchen table and then walks down the small hallway that connects his rooms and bends down over a small container of clothes, donated by the Goodwill foundation. Why he has these in his quarters; he gives them out to people on the street when he sees them. Just like he is now. He grabs a faded green polo that looks to be about the size of the person outside, along with a black sweatshirt with no hood and a Puma logo on it. A pair of faded jeans, along with a pair of 'one size fits all' boots. All of this he estimates is a size bigger than what the person outside needs, but that's actually a good thing; if he's wrong and they're too small, they're useless. But bigger clothes can be baggy and still worn.

Gathering up these objects under his arm, clutching the blanket in one hand and the cup of piping hot tea in the other, he ventures back outside, glances over the side of the stairwell and nods at the persistence of the person's presence. He steps down the stairs and turns sharply right, taking all of two steps towards the person before he's looming over them like an obelisk. What looks to be a small boy of petite frame has their arms clutched around their chest, frantically rubbing back and forth in an attempt to create some heat. Fogged breath comes out from under the hood.

"Here." He says, crouching down and holding out the gifts of generosity. The figure abruptly stops the frantic rubbing and, with obvious hesitance, looks up at him.

Red eyes are all Anderson sees before he drops the objects on the ground, tea spilling everywhere, and has the boy pinned to the wall with a holy bayonet against his…_her_ neck. The yelp the _girl_ made when these motions occurred definitely confirmed her gender, that, and the shape of her rather voluminous chest revealed itself upon standing up, hands pressed to the wall above her head. She's a pitiful sight, this vampire, living on the streets. Her face is paler than any he's ever seen. For once, Anderson does not feel he is killing a vampire, but rather putting one out of its misery.

He brings the bayonet back slowly, raising it to strike, but hesitates at the sight of only _slightly _red tears dripping from the Draculina's eyes. _That's funny,_ he muses, _vampires have __**bloody **__tears, not just red ones._ He knows from experience. Plenty of the vampire's he's killed have cried. But they didn't have tinted red tears, they had plain old _blood _coming from their tear ducts. A choked sobbing comes from her lips, and she shies away from the blade as it looms over her. _But if that's the way it works…_ The priest frowns, eyes narrowing, and leans forward to check something.

"Vampire." He intones, his face an inch from hers. She cuts her sobbing off abruptly and stares at him with wide eyes and quivering lips. The tears do not stop. "When was the last time you drank?" The question makes her blink, and then she looks away, dejected.

"I-I haven't." She's pulled from the wall and then slammed back against it, a yelp escaping her mouth from the force, the back of her skull cracking against the brick.

"You _haven't?"_ He growls, saliva spitting from beneath his teeth. She shies away from him, cringing when his grip on her wrists tighten. He almost slams her against the wall again, but thinks better of it; blood is dripping out of her hoody, staining the blonde hair sticking out red. The impact against the wall had done a bit more than he'd thought it would. Instead, he presses the bayonet against her throat once more to accent his words. "_Answer me."_

"I've never drunk any blood!" She screams, shirking up against the wall in an attempt to break contact with the holy silver bayonet. He removes it immediately, and searches the girl's face for any trace of deceit. A flinch of the cheeks, no, that's from her crying. What about her eyes, her eyes, they must hold the lies…no. She simply looks…pathetic. Her eyes are clamped shut and she is crying once more, tinted red tears streaming down her cheeks. He reaches out with the tip of a finger and catches one of the tears on it. It's not blood. It could be water with red food coloring for all he knew.

"That would explain yer tears." She opens one eye at the statement, clearly confused, but he's already in motion. The bayonet is flicked back up his sleeve, and with his now free hand he pulled down her hood, and pulls her head forward to look at the wound on the back of her head. Sure enough, it's not sealing up. "Regenerative abilities aren't…happening. Are you…" He pulls her head back up and grabs her cheeks, pressing them together to force her mouth open. _Are you really a vampire?_ He asks inwardly, examining her teeth. He lets out a heavy sigh, letting go of her mouth. Fangs. Big ones, too. _Yep. You are. And you haven't drunk a drop of blood, it looks like. _

He lets go of her hands, and they drop to her sides before she brings them up and starts the rubbing motion for heat once more, staring with wide eyes up at him and clearly wondering if she's about to die. Alexander raises a hand, up and up, and she clamps her eyes shut once more, sending her prayers to whatever god would let a demon like her live in their afterlife. Instead of being pierced through the heart, or decapitated, or any number of violent things, a palm rests on the top of her head. She feels woozy as she opens her eyes, wondering if the hit on the back of her head was making her see things.

"Why haven't you drunk any blood?" Her vision is blurring, and she squints to try and make out the indiscernible expression on the priest's face. _This is just a dream, right?_ She murmurs in her mind. Outwardly, she opens her mouth.

"Cause I don' wanna be a vampire." She doesn't see the shocked expression on the priests' face; she blacks out.

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	2. Shower and Secondary Interrogation

**Jigoku Pie: Thanks! I thought it'd be interesting to see how Anderson would deal with his two personalities; the Compassionate Cleric and the Killing Judge. It's doing well, so far.**

**Seville: Like most people who write on this website I am inspired by the reviews I get; continuation beyond what I've already written, which is a few chapters past this one I'm uploading right now, depends on whether or not people tell me what they think. Thanks for your support (^_^)**

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Seras awoke with a start, jerking upwards and into a sitting position and then immediately regretting it; she was _dizzy._ A hand reached behind her head and she hissed through her teeth feeling the bump that had formed from the priest's zealous interrogation. But her fingers did not only press against a bump; they pressed against cloth. Gently stroking her fingers along the back of her head, the girl realized it was a _bandage._

"Where'd I get this?" She asked, looking around the room she now sat in. Looking down, she found herself in a mattress on the floor. And around her was almost nothing but dust bunnies.

"Yer awake." A voice said from the doorway as her eyes finally moved in that direction. The priest, in all his holy glory, stood there. His glasses were tinted a spectral blue, keeping his eyes hidden from sight. Seras blinked, and then rolled out of the bed, trying to ignore the nauseating effect the motion had on her brain. She scrambled to her feet on the far side of the room from the door, hands held up in fists. Her breath was coming out in pants. She felt sick. She nearly dropped her guard and cowered on the floor when the man took a step forward, but she clenched her teeth and maintained her stance. It'd been drilled into her for three years at the Police Academy she'd attended after school, one of the few things she held onto after turning into a vampire.

The man did not seem to notice. He kept walking towards her, eventually stopping next to the mattress.

"If I intended to harm you, or kill you, either would have been accomplished by now. I am more than capable of ending yer life with my bare hands, let alone should I decide to use my blades." He straightened up to his full height, and Seras nearly dropped her hands at how incredibly big he was. He must have been nearly eight feet tall! He was already tall before, but _jeez._ "Vampire, you are my guest, and I am yer host. If you want to stay alive, you will do as I say. Do you understand?"

She nodded without hesitation, lowering her hands. Even without the threat, she doubted she'd be able to hold the stance much longer; it felt like a truck had run her over. Everything about this man screamed danger, even without him pinning her to the wall with a blade at her neck. He nodded sharply, and motioned with a swing of his arm towards the door. "Down the hall, to the right, the bathroom. Get cleaned up. There is a basket of clothing on your way there. Take what you need. Once you've finished this task I will be in the kitchen, and I will decide what to do with you. I loathe the thought of speaking to you any longer when you smell like garbage." Each word made Seras twitch; the tone of his speaking was cold, distant. If she was actually a regular girl on the street, she doubted he'd make the insult on her body odor.

He stepped to the side, and she walked with great caution past him, sparing only a momentary glance up at his chin before scampering away like a kicked puppy. He hadn't killed her yet. She didn't know why, but she was still alive, and he was the one who'd taken her into his home and _not_ killed her. Whatever he wanted her to do, she'd do it. Pausing her movement down the hall at the basket of clothes, she juggled articles of fabric for a few moments before selecting, by coincidence, almost all of the same garments he had chosen earlier, with a single exception being the black hoody for an orange zip-up jacket.

When she looked behind her after selecting her clothes she wondered where he'd gone; he wasn't behind her, and she didn't hear him walking around, even with her enhanced hearing. Though, self-starved, that 'enhanced' hearing wasn't very enhanced. She went directly to the bathroom and entered it, closing and locking the door behind her before stripping down and getting into the bath-shower.

"Oh, god." She groaned, feeling hot water caress her curves. It'd been so long since she'd had a warm shower, let alone one where she didn't have a two minute time limit. She fiddled with the bandages on her head and grit her teeth when she untied the knot directly over her head wound. She didn't feel too bad now. In fact, with the warm water rolling over her in waves, she was feeling pretty damn good besides the aching pain on the back of her head. She didn't think she had cracked her skull or anything because she'd broken bones before and while it hurt, it wasn't _that kind_ of hurt.

The shampoo, when she used it, stung the injury but she ignored it. To have clean hair was like a dream come true, and she wasn't about to let a little pain stop her from getting it. She sniffed the scent from her palm as she worked it into her hair and was reminded of her ex-boyfriend, Pip. He always had long hair, and it always smelled fruity. _Well,_ she smirked, _he __**did**__ have long hair till he broke up with me._ That was an event she liked to call; 'The Great Shave.'

As she dried off, she pondered the pile of clothes on the sink. The Goodwill clothes, while clean, were not made to fit her. It was only by estimation did she think the green polo would fit her, and upon putting it on, sans her dirty bra, she found her bust pressing tightly against the fabric. It wasn't uncomfortable, but just…tight. The jeans fit fine, and the shoes, with a pair of mismatched socks, fit well enough. She attempted to re-bandage her head, but gave up after the third tying of her fingers to her hair. Zipping up the orange jacket, she stepped out of the bathroom, and took an audible gulp as she moved towards the kitchen.

She peered around the corner and found the hulk of a man sitting at the table, glowering at her.

"Sit." He said, pushing the chair across from him out with a touch of his boot under the table. She obeyed, walking across the room with only a cursory glance to take in the fridge and sink before sitting down. He sat with elbows on the table, hands fisted together with fingers interlaced in front of his nose. With the artificial light of the kitchen she could now see his startlingly green eyes behind his spectacles. While she had seen his spiky blonde hair last night, even in the dark, she hadn't seen the details of his face; a large wedge shaped scar covered his left cheek down to his throat, and his jaw was set in a permanent scowl.

While she analyzed his appearance, he did the same. The Draculina before him was looking better, though still sickly, and weak. Red eyes searched him, and he felt the urge to remove them from their sockets, but resisted. Her face was rather narrow, her chin coming to almost a point. Her ears were naturally pointy, and from what he could see of her figure from both when she walked towards him and while she sat across from him, she was _quite_ developed. Once he'd absorbed all of these details he lowered his hands to the table, fingers still entwined.

"I am Father Alexander Anderson. Do you have a name, vampire?" If she was insulted by the question she didn't show it.

"Seras Victoria." The girl tentatively placed a palm on the table. "Are-"

"I will speak first." He cut her off, and she shut up, removing her hand from the table simultaneously. "I dun't know why I haven't killed you. I find myself wondering if I pity such a sorry excuse for yer kind, or if my age is getting to me, turning me senile."

Seras pondered why the man spoke of his age when he looked not a day beyond forty.

"Tell me, _Seras,_" He spat the name as though it were a curse, "How long have you been a vampire? Surely, to have gone without drinking you cannot be that old." The question made her squirm in her chair.

"Only a few months." She said, simply.

"A few months." He repeated, disentangling his hands and rubbing his chin. "And you haven't drunk blood once?" She shook her head, no. "How did you survive? Don't you turn into a husk, dry up like a prune without drinking?" She shrugged. "Were you not driven by bloodthirst, hungry ta kill?" She cringed and looked away. He lowered his hand. "You _have._"

"I haven't killed anyone." She growled, turning back to him. "I haven't, and I don't want to."

"_Why?"_ He snarled back. "Yer a _vampire._ It's yer _nature._"

"_**I don' want it!"**_ She roared, standing up. In an instant she was thrown to the floor, and he was pinning her down with both hands on her arms.

"You dun't want it, you say? You never wanted to _be_ a vampire, you say?"

"_Yes."_ She hissed, the pain in the back of her head far worse than before now. He'd probably already forgotten the injury he'd caused. He lowered his face, closing the distance between their foreheads. His eyes bore into hers like bullets, scanning for any sign she was lying, just like before. And then he was off of her, standing up like a tower at her feet.

"Hmm." He hummed. Then he walked out of the kitchen. Seras hopped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her head, and followed him, curious. She looked to the right, but he wasn't there. She looked to the left, to the entrance of the quarters, and saw him standing in front of the door. She peeked out further, trying to get a better look and see if he was actually _doing_ something. He turned, suddenly, and she almost fell over. The only thing he was doing other than standing there was holding the doorknob. "I have a service to conduct. You will remain here, and you will sleep. A head injury is not something to be taken lightly, blood-sucking leech or not. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes." She stammered, disbelieving. "You aren't going to kill me?" The question made his eyes narrow.

"I haven't decided yet." He swung the door open, sunshine shining through, and then it slammed shut behind him. Locked. Seras slumped against the hallway wall, cradling her aching head. Getting your head slammed against a hard surface two days in a row was painful, not to mention an interrogation in between. Her head spun. She knew he was right; sleep was needed at the moment to heal her injuries. They weren't concussions, just damn painful bumps. Stumbling and staggering, she moved back to the room she'd come out of, and fell into the bed, asleep before she made contact.

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	3. A Phonecall to a Woman in a Suit

**ultima-owner: Yeah, he could, and they both know it. Thanks for reviewing (^_^)**

**FantasyDreamer1992: Thanks! I tried to work in a bit of Seras' backstory, yeah. There's gonna be some involvement with some characters from her past, some depth is gonna be built up. Anderson themed stories are a lot of fun; scottish accents and senseless violence make up most of them, and the ones that aren't like ****_that_**** are usually meticulous stories of inner struggle. Like this one. **

**AlsoSprachOdin: He's a funny one to portray. Scottish accent is required, only drawback is that I'm terrible writing accents. Whoop. Anyways, yeah, they never met before. Thanks for reviewing. **

**My break from school is ending after tomorrow, so the uploads may slow down a bit. Otherwise, good reading. **

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"Put me through." A static-laced answer replied to him. "For the love of Christ." he spun on his heel, walking down the same sidewalk he'd been walking for the past half hour trying to make a phone call. Long distance operators were _not_ his friends. "Look, I'm Father Alexander Anderson of the Iscariot Division, I have a _reason_ to speak to her. I don't care if she's 'got other plans!' If she's busy then I'll talk to the damn butler for all I care, just put me through!" Another static-laced answer, this one a lot more beneficial. "Good. Fine, yes, I'll pay for out of country calls, whatever." A ringing sound came through the receiver, sign that he'd been connected, but not picked up.

He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes for the umpteenth time since he'd dialed '0' for operator. He'd thought about how he'd deal with the leech the entire time he'd been at service, he'd almost tripped up on one of the prayers because of it! And then, for some blasphemous reason, this idea had popped into his head. As much as he hated to ask sworn enemies for _anything_, he was in a tight spot, torn between his two halves.

On one side, he wanted to kill Seras and be done with it.

On the other, he pitied her pathetic existence so much that it would _disgust _him to kill her.

Or, he could pick the high road. _This _road. The one that involved asking for a favor from a particular woman in a suit.

A click on the other end of the line brought him out of his inner deliberations.

"Hellsing residence." Alexander almost swore. _Fuckin' butler._

"This is Alexander Anderson of the Vatican." He said, trying to hold himself back from cursing the servant into damnation.

"I see." If anything, Walter sounded bemused.

"May I _ssss_peak to _Ssss_ir Integra?" He hissed between his teeth. A faint clicking sound was heard, one that Alexander guessed was the footsteps down a hall.

"Of course. One moment, if you please." A knocking sound. A muffled 'come in,' a feminine voice speaking. All sound became muffled with Walter placing his hand over the receiver, and a few moments later Alexander got what he'd been seeking.

"What do you want, Anderson?" The man stopped walking, and the people walking the street around him went around him like he was a rock in a river.

"I need-" He tugged on his collar, and stepped over to the side of the building next to him, lowering his tone to that of a near whisper. "I need to talk to you about binding vampires."

Silence.

"Hellsing?"

"I heard you the first time, Anderson. I'm just wondering if the Vatican's changed their rules." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does." He felt a distinct need to crush his phone and throw it at the ground and stomp on it, but held back.

"No. They haven't." Another pause of silence. "Hellsing?"

"I'm still here, Anderson." Yet again, silence.

"And?" He growled.

"And what?"

"Oh for the love of-"

"I'm joking with you, Anderson." _I will not throw my phone at the ground. I need to hear this. Calm down, Alexander, calm down. _"If you want to know about binding vampires for personal reasons behind the Vatican's back, I believe I'm amused enough to be willing to make a deal with you." _Just great._

"And that deal would entail?"

"Who are you binding, and why?" A simple question, one that Alexander was all to hateful to answer.

"No one." He said, glancing behind him to see if anyone was listening in on his less-than-normal conversation. "Absolutely no one. Just a runt."

"A runt?"

"Christ, Hellsing-" He brought a hand to his forehead-"A sorry excuse for a vampire who hasn't drunk a single drop, and doesn't _want_ to. That a good enough description?" Another bout of silence, and then she responded.

"Good enough. I'm surprised, Anderson, I didn't know you had the capacity to _pity._ I thought they removed that when they modified you."

"Will you provide me information on binding vampires or _not?_" It came out as almost unintelligible; his teeth were barely separating to form words.

"I want to meet this vampire. Expect my visit soon." She hung up, and Anderson, thoroughly pleased the conversation was over, chucked his phone as hard as he could across the street. It embedded itself in the passenger door of a parked car, and he winced.

"That'll be hard to explain." Without further ado, he set his destination for home. If she wanted to meet Seras, that was fine, as long as Alucard had nothing to do with it.

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	4. News and a New Bed

**Sorry for not uploading these past two days, haven't had the chance. I actually have to work in some new concepts, so I may edit this chapter later to fit them. The next one I've written needs a serious overview though, so don't expect it until at least tomorrow afternoon. **

**Heidilynn08: Thanks! It's not a romance, if that's what you mean by pairing. Sorry to disappoint if that was what you were looking forwards to. **

**Ultimate Black Ace: Thanks for the review, keep your head up and I'll have more up soon.**

**The continuation of this story depends on your support; please review and let me know what your opinions are. **

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Seras felt like poop. At least, her head did. She didn't even know why she was awake; she'd slept for hours, and now she'd just woken up, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to sleep more. She rolled onto her side, curling the blanket around herself further, and almost jumped out of bed when she saw Anderson standing in the doorway once again.

"Yer awake." He's said that before. She sat up slowly, a hand on her head, groaning. He ignored it, walking towards her with a purpose she didn't know. She tried to scramble away, thinking she was about to face the curtains, but instead felt a hand on the top of her head once more, and froze in place. "It's not bleeding." What's not…oh. He was looking at the back of her head. The hand released her and she turned to face his crouching figure. "I'm not going to kill you, not yet, anyways." He paused, just staring at her. The silence felt awkard.

"That's reassuring."

"Hmm. Perhaps." He put his hands behind himself and lowered his rear end to the floor, coming back forward in a cross legged position. "Even if you abstain from blood, you are still a vampire." He paused once more, and Seras felt there was some point he was trying to make, but wasn't giving it away.

"Right."

"While I can kill you at any time, you are still a presence in my home. A _lethal_ presence."

"Is there a point to what you're saying?" She blurted out, hoping he wouldn't change his mind for her rudeness. He straightened up and leaned forward, frowning at her.

"Don't take that tone with me." She nodded frantically, and he leaned back. "I have spoken to one of my enemies, who uses a vampire for both security and for her services of killing other vampires. She is willing to meet you, and depending on whether or not she's on her period I may gain the materials and means to bind you." Seras processed this information with a tilt of her head.

"Bind?"

"You'll be bound. You won't be able to kill anyone without my permission, no feeding without my permission, nothing without my say so." His frown hardened. "You'll be almost human. I won't let you kill a single person, nor drink a single drop of blood. Whether the end result is you turn into a dry husk of a corpse because of it isn't my concern." The girl tilted her head the other way.

"So…this ensures I won't be able to kill anyone?" A nod. She straightened up in the bed and clapped her hands together, grinning. "Almost humanity, here I come."

"Only if she decides to part with her knowledge of vampiric binding." He snarled, standing up. "Until she arrives you will stay within my home. Considering you are sleeping in what was once my bed, I will have to acquire another." He turned to the doorway. "I'll be back later. Move your mattress to the wall, make space for my own." Seras nodded, though he couldn't see it, and got out of bed. Suddenly, he spun around, and she nearly fell back on her butt. "I'll be sleeping in the same room with you. Don't think you can try anything. I sleep light." He was gone.

Seras rolled her eyes and got to pushing the mattress, trying to appease her throbbing head by ignoring the pain.

"I wasn't gonna do _nothing."_

A little over an hour passed and the door opened. Seras, who sat at the kitchen table with a pencil and a paper she'd found to entertain herself, hopped up immediately at the sound of growling and grunting. She peeked around the bend and saw Anderson struggling to pull the mattress through the narrow and short door. _That's right,_ she mused, _he has to bend down to enter his own house. _She stepped forward, meekly, and cleared her throat.

"Want some help?" His head swerved and his eyes leveled a stare with her. He looked back at the bed, gave it a hard tug, and it came through.

"I do not need your aid." He growled, stepping past her and in what seemed like an accident smacking her back into the kitchen with the mattress. She didn't fall over or anything, but there was a definite push behind his bed. It was like being smacked with a large pillow; there was force behind it, but it didn't hurt. She watched him walk down the hallway, and turned to the open door. A chance of freedom, yes, but also cold.

"If you're trying to keep me contained don't leave the damn door open…" She muttered, looking outside into the darkened street before slamming the door shut. It must have been late evening. She'd lost track of time, but she wanted to sleep; if it was night, she'd sleep, if it was day, she'd sleep anyways. She turned and walked back down the hallway, followed after him. With several more grunts and another tight squeeze through a door, the mattress flomped to the floor on the opposite side of the room from Seras'. Anderson wiped his nose with his sleeve and turned to face her.

"It's nearing midnight." Later than she thought. "Stay on your side of the room and go to sleep." She rolled her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

_"Don't talk back to me."_ Seras flinched back out of the doorway at the sudden harsh tone. Alexander swung a series of bayonets out of his sleeves, ones that Seras thought might be aiming for her throat. She took tiny steps backwards, hoping for a life lasting longer than a few seconds. Instead of decapitating her they imbedded themselves in the floorboards next to his mattress. Four of them, all long and shiny, and very, _very_ sharp. "I do not appreciate cheek. Perhaps I can work that into the binding; _remove all traces of sarcasm._" He gave her a cruel grin that seemed uncharacteristic of him.

This binding suddenly seems a lot worse than just preventing her from feeding. With a tiny squeak, she hopped past him and over to the far wall where his old, now her' mattress lay, and hopped into it. The blanket curled around her like a cocoon, and she watched him from a tiny crack under the blanket. Her eyes widened as he stripped down, his cassock coming off and revealing a million shrunken bayonets within it.

_Huh. I wondered where they came from. Now the only thing to wonder is why they don't make any sound while he moves. They ought to clinkle, or tinkle, or something. _

He folded the cassock a peculiar way, this way and that and another three ways and then placed it next to his bed up against the wall. With a swift tug, his clerical collar was removed and he tossed that carelessly to the floor before kicking one of his legs out from under him and falling into bed. One hand was always near his bayonets, no matter how he shifted before settling in a final position on his side facing the wall. Seras, content with the fact he wasn't about to purge her existence, tugged the opening in the blanket closed and submitted to the warmth of her surroundings; she was out like a light.

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	5. Foreign Aid and a Tranquil Moment

**Got sick yesterday. Ugh. I found a second home in a bucket; not a very pleasant way to spend a Thursday afternoon.**

**Anyways, here's the next chapter. It was a bit hard to orchestrate some of this stuff; I had to twist words a bit to make things look like they should, and it comes off a bit standoffish at some points. Regardless, I think it turned out pretty well. If you see any blatant mistakes in anything, point them out and I'll try to fix them; that means grammar, or some conceptual error from the anime/manga that I've messed up.**

**Now, responses; **

**ultima-owner: No, I don't think they ever run out. I don't think they ever explained where the bayonets come from in the either of the shows or the manga. So, I came up with an explanation; I think it's at the end of chapter 4. His cassock is just lined with a bunch of thimble sized bayonets which expand when he flicks them out. Imagine there's some Holy enchantment on them or something that makes it work like that. Otherwise, just call him Wolverine, and forget about it. **

**maroongrad: Thanks!**

**Guest: I'd prefer you make an actual account and respond, but doesn't really matter to me. I'll continue as long as people keep giving me their opinions, and I don't think they'll go silent any time soon; the story will continue on. Thanks for reviewing :D**

**Shadow Commando: Off-topic; that's a very cool name. What you said was a bit convoluted and it took me a few moments to decipher what you meant in the second part, but I think I get what you're saying. Anderson is a 'Judas Priest,' a member of Iscariot. He's been conditioned and taught to destroy heathens and demons (including vampires like Seras) his entire life, yes, but he has also been taught to show compassion for the weak and pity for the poor and suffering. These two persona's clash against each other, and at the moment, it seems his compassion is winning. He is not going to be friendly with Seras until he sees her as something else besides a monster of the unholy, so you can expect harshness until that point. Though, he may slip up on occasion. And he may go the extreme of harshness on occasion. He's moody. Spoilers! Thanks for the review :D**

**Heidilynn08: He's conflicted; he's gonna do something he's never done or thought about doing before because of his indecision. Thanks for reviewing. **

**DarkShadowsBrother: Thank you. **

**Corona: Well, here it is :D**

**Bloody-Asphode11: Disturbingly cute. Is that a good thing? I dunno. I like to imagine Integra either slapping a hand on the receiver and cackling so loud Walter gives her a funny look, or just staring blankly at the wall in front of her. I'm not sure which is better. And yeah, that last scene was supposed to look ****_just_**** like that. You want a long chapter; here it is.**

**StreakingHerculobus: What the hell is a Herculobus? Nevermind. Alucard's response will come later. Just wait. **

**This story's continuity depends upon your support; please review.**

* * *

A loud knocking awoke both Paladin and Vampire. Alexander was up and in his bayoneted cassock before Seras had even unfurled the sheets around her. As she stood up, he was fixing his clerical collar, walking out of the room, muttering something about "Taking her damn time." _Who's he talking-oh, that woman he mentioned earlier._ Seras mused, watching him walk out. The four bayonets that had taken rest in the floorboards next to his bed had disappeared, most likely up the sleeves of his cassock with a flick of his fingers.

Not fully awake, she stumbled out after him, the injury on her head no longer aching quite as much as it did before, but still quite tender as she took steps; every step was like someone poking her in the wound. Her vampiric regeneration _was_ working. It was just so damn slow it was almost equal to the natural fixing up of a regular human, if only slightly faster.

When she entered the hallway she found Alexander standing at the end staring at an open door, outside of which was nearly a total opposite of him. A man just as tall as him with black hair and with a floppy red fedora, a red coat and a black suit underneath. Pale skin, whiter than white. Orange sunglasses covered his eyes. She didn't know exactly what caused it, but Seras felt something tugging on her innards to step towards this stranger. She took a step…and a bayonet sizzling with holy righteousness impaled the floor between her feet.

"You will stay there, girl." Alexander said to Seras, not turning around. The impact of the bayonet shocked her out of whatever trance she'd entered. She nodded, more to herself than to anyone else, but he wasn't looking nor about to. He was totally focused on the woman and man in front of him. Seras couldn't see past Anderson's massive figure to see the one he spoke to. "As for you, Hellsing," he spoke downwards, not to the man before him, "I will not allow Alucard into my house."

The man in red smirked, raising a questioning hand. "But how will I provide for my Master's safety? To allow her residence within-"

"I will not harm her. Nor will the blood sucker. My word as a Paladin against yours as a monster, I believe mine _wins,_ demon." The rage in Alexander's near gnashing of teeth was very apparent. Shivers went Seras' spine from the heaviness in the air.

"I would prefer to enter, rather than stay out here in the cold." A woman's voice. Coming from between the two men; she was hidden from sight by Anderson's bulk. "Alucard, remain here. I trust his _requirements_ will keep him in check." _Odd_, Seras thought, _how this Alucard is treated like a monster by the priest, and the priest is spoken to like a beast that needs to be restrained. Maybe they're twins separated at birth. And yep, that's a woman's voice. Must be the one he'd been talking about earlier. _

"Very well, Master." Alucard sent a fleeting look at Seras, and she felt shivers down her spine once more, but she didn't know why. _Could he be another…_ her thoughts were cut off as Alexander stepped out of the way and revealed the form of a woman with pale blonde hair and blue eyes behind her glasses. Her suit hid her form, but as a fellow female Seras could tell she would be quite attractive in a dress. The door shut, and Alexander strode down the hall towards Seras, snatching the bayonet out of the floor and flicking it up his sleeve.

"You ever see that man again, you stay away. Understand?" She nodded, but couldn't help the latent curiosity in her chest about the man in red. Some instinct told her to go to him, but, at the moment, her fear of Anderson far outweighed any such urges. He walked past her, grabbing her by the hood of her zip-up jacket, pulling her into the kitchen with her heels dragging on the ground like a limp doll. The woman followed behind, a rather amused expression on her face. She was slung into the chair she'd sat in yesterday, and Alexander stayed standing behind her, an ever present reason to be on her best damned behavior. Not like she wouldn't be courteous anyways. Perhaps he was there for the woman's comfort.

She sat down across from Seras, the slight smile never leaving her lips. _No. She doesn't look uncomfortable in slightest. _

"Greetings." She said. "I am Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing." _Long name._ _Oh, shit, I should introduce myself._

"Seras Victoria." Seras held out her hand for a shake, but no mirror-motion was made, the slight smile disappearing from the woman's face.

"How long have you been a vampire?" The ex-police girl drew her hand back slowly and put it back on her lap. This chick was serious as fuck.

"A few months." The look on the woman's face turned to a serious scowl. "Er…" Seras counted on her fingers. "Eight months, fifteen days, approximately ten hours. I wasn't really, uh, looking at the clocks when I woke up."

"Your precision is lacking, but acceptable in this situation." _Wow, she really expected it to the minute. Jeez. _"How did you end up here?"

"Here?"

"In this house. With a Warrior Priest."

"Oh." Seras gave a nervous smile, and Integra did not return it. She raised a hand and scratched her earlobe, looking away with that same nervous smile. "I was trying to stay warm, and my place of warmth happened to be the vent next to his stairwell. He saw me and, uh…yeah."

"And the priest welcomed a vampire into his home, willingly?"

"She is a pathetic excuse for a vampire." Anderson growled from behind and above Seras. She wanted to say that she wasn't pathetic…but it was the truth. No point in arguing. "I still cannot fathom why I took pity upon her, but with a binding upon her perhaps there is a chance for her sorry existence. Maybe I won't have to spill the blood of such a weakling, and kill her." Seras winced at the threat, but the conversation was continuing.

"Anderson said you hadn't drunk a drop of blood." Integra was ignoring whatever the man said, not even looking at him. "Is this true?" Seras nodded. "How?" Seras shrugged. "What kind of an answer is that?" The girl almost shrugged again, but instincts told her not to.

"I never really thought about it. I mean I had cravings…" A memory flashed through Seras' mind, and she shuddered. "I had a few close calls. But I managed to hold off. The closest I got was when a bum fight happened and one of them cut the other's throat. The sight was…" An involuntary licking of the lips. _"Intoxicating."_

"You're definitely a vampire."

"I resent that."

"I'm sure you do. Don't talk back to me." _Same as Anderson. What's with these people and sustained conversation?_ "How did you manage to hold off when blood was right in front of you?" The question made Seras squirm, and she looked away.

"I…distracted myself." She pulled her left sleeve up, revealing numerous white spots on her forearm. "I bit my own arm, and ran away. I didn't want to, uh…" She saw the quizzical look on Integra's face and quickly tugged her sleeve back down. "Didn't want to do it." Integra's eyes floated on her sleeve a few moments longer, before she leaned forward into the same position Anderson had been that second interrogation; fingers interlaced in front of the nose, hiding whatever shape her lips made from view. Her eyes, however, were visible; they stared into Seras'.

"So, tell me, Seras Victoria." The tone was almost casual. "Are you ever going to embrace your vampirism?"

"No." The answer was instant.

"You'll never try and oppose the Hellsing organization?"

"I don't know what that is." Integra leaned back and sighed off to the side, a faint smile on her lips. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Her gaze focused on Anderson, now.

"This contains the basics of binding to an individual Master. I'm not giving you any materials, only the instructions. Wouldn't want to make it _too_ easy for you." The notebook was placed on the table and she stood up. "Good day, paladin." Anderson made no response, only reaching down and swiping the notebook from the table, flicking it up into his sleeve as though it was a bayonet. Integra strode out of the room, and Seras heard her open and shut the door. Dark laughter echoed from outside; Alucard. Alexander made a disgruntled grunt at the sound, stepping around the table to loom over Seras from the side.

"It's morning." He intoned, stating the obvious. She nodded up at him. "I have a service in ten minutes. You will stay here. Sleep, if you must, and continue healing. I will study the contents of the notebook while I am out." He started to turn, but paused, and raised a finger towards the table's surface. "What…" His stern expression softened slightly, but Seras didn't even notice it. "What is that?" Seras followed his point to the drawing she'd been working on last night. How it'd escaped the attention of everyone so far, including herself, was beyond her. She reached out and turned the paper flush to her.

"Just a drawing."

"Of?" She almost double took at Anderson. Curiosity, in what a vampire drew? That, in and of itself, was curious. Instead of looking up at him she just pushed the paper towards him, and he plucked it from the surface, eyes scanning it. "What's that, there?" He bent at the waist, putting the drawing between them so they could both see, and pointed to a particular figure. "Is that a kitten?"

"It's _me."_ Seras snarled, irritated at the accidental use of her old nickname on the police force. She jabbed a finger at the other figures in the picture. "That's my Captain, Hank, that's the sergeant, Timothy, and there's Dean and Dale, the twin numbskulls who graduated a year before me."

"Graduated?"

"Police Academy." The paladin straightened up, staring at the picture a moment longer. Seras' eyes flickered from the paper he held to his face. She felt an odd tranquility in this brief, nonviolent and non-insulting conversation. It was like they weren't a vampire and priest, mortal enemies that should be at each other's throats, not talking about what a drawing looked like. A loud snort roused her from her reverie.

"They all look like cats." He tossed the paper haphazardly back towards the table, not looking to see if it made the distance or not as he walked away, which it didn't; it floated down to the kitchen floor, face down. Whatever harmony Seras had felt had been dashed.

He paused at the doorway, though, head turning slightly to make his voice carry better.

"You went to a Police Academy." It was more of a statement than a question, but Seras replied anyways.

"Yes. Three years. Graduated nine months ago."

"A month before you turned."

"Yes."

"Hmm." He left without another word. Seras could speculate whether or not he actually gave a damn, but her head was starting to ache from the artificial lighting in the kitchen. With far less wobbly legs than in previous days, she stood to head back to her room, but paused, looking down at the piece of paper on the floor. Ignoring the voice in her head that yelled, "What you are doing is stupid! You are stupid!" she swung a hand down and picked it up, walked over to the fridge, and slapped a magnet on the top of the picture. Finished, she waddled back to the room, intent on healing completely with a long, long nap.

* * *

**Please review. Due to everyone saying "Make longer chapters" the next chapter will be considerably longer. It will, however, take me all afternoon to complete; a scene I had already written doesn't fit in with what I've changed, so I have to shift some things around. Please, patience, and I will have it up as soon as I can.**


	6. Chaos Unfolding

**Sorry it took so long. **

**ultima-owner: Yeah. She does. **

**DarkShadowsBrother: Thanks!**

**Bloody-Asphode11: If he did he'd probably just say to Anderson, seemingly out of nowhere, "We aren't related." And Alexander would be like "What?" Thanks for the review :D**

**Karthonox: Awe yeah, brownie points all the way. Yeah, chapter length; this chapter you are currently about to read is much longer than the others. If you look at it closely you'll find each chapter represents a day, but I might change that. I also plan to go back and make chapters longer, develop a few things more. But this one's a big one, so there you go. I'm glad everyone seems in character, thanks for reviewing :D**

**Heidilynn08: Oh. OK. (^-^) (^_^) (^-^)**

**If you see any errors related to grammar or concepts from the anime/manga, please let me know.**

* * *

It'd been two hours since the midday service at church. Anderson cracked his knuckles, leaning forward in the chair. It was too tiny for him, and it creaked slightly with every shift of his weight. The Captain of the 5th precinct was taking too long. Something about a conference, and that he'd be there soon; that was what the secretary had told Anderson half an hour ago. It was even worse that he'd been asked to sit in the section with captured criminals, the ones either waiting to be put in cells or be interrogated.

The paladin's gaze floated upwards and he met the amber eyed stare of a dark-skinned gang member, one with a piercing in his lip, and another in his nose. He wore a high-collar blue jacket and matching blue pants, an odd gold-and-white eye design on a matching blue cap. His lips curled into a sinister grin, and he held out his handcuffed hands for a handshake.

"Jan Valentine. Nice to meet you, _priest._" Anderson did not return the motion, nor the greeting, only clenching his jaw at the overly pronounced canines in the other man's mouth. Why, if the Killing Judge didn't know any better, he'd say they were _fangs._ His fingers twitched, wanting to call out a bayonet or two and skewer the vampire like a pig up against the wall. An image of shish kabob floated into the priest's mind, and it shifted to that of a long stake with all of this man's body parts on it. _Now,_ he returned the grin, and the vampire wilted under the nigh-psychotic look in Alexander's eyes. Just as Jan was pulling back his hands he found them grabbed, and shook; to others it looked like a simple handshake greeting, but Jan was barely holding back a scream.

Cracking sounds of the bones in Jan's hand breaking could be heard over the din of the office workers, but no one seemed to notice. Anderson leaned forward and spoke, his voice so low Jan had no choice but to mirror the priest in order to hear.

"What a pleasant surprise, vampire." Jan gave a jerk of the hand. He'd thought Anderson was a regular, albeit large, priest, not someone who'd recognize one of his kind. "When I've finished speaking with the Captain, I'll be sure to kill you. Would you prefer decapitation or skewering like a snake on a stick? I think you'd be fantastic if diced up and sliced to _bits."_ He gave Jan's hand one final crushing squeeze, eliciting a quiet and effeminate squeak from the vampire. "I'll enjoy turning you into shish kabob." He relented, and released Jan's hand, sitting back. Jan cradled his hand to his chest while regeneration took place, and the two held a glare so potent there were visible sparks in the air between them.

"If you kill me there'll be hell to pay. My brother will _end_ you."

"Oh, by all means." Anderson's grin grew wider. _"Another lamb for the slaughter._"

"Mr. Anderson!" A voice called out, drawing Alexander's attention. It was the secretary, and she was standing up, hands on her desk as she peered over in his general direction. "Alexander Anderson-oh, there you are." She waved him over, and he stood, giving Jan one final grim grin before walking towards her. When he stood in front of the desk, she sat down. "Captain Forrest just returned from his meeting; he's in his office, if you're ready to speak to him." He gave a polite nod, and walked away; inside, however polite he was on the outside, he was seething. _I've been ready to speak to him for nearly 45 minutes. _He held back a tirade simply because she had nothing to do with it. The Captain would not be so lucky.

Hank Forrest was not a weak man. He was a Captain of the police force, the one in charge of running the 5th precinct. But under the glower of the man towering before him, he wilted like a dying flower.

"Father Alexander Anderson." The man introduced himself, having seemingly appeared from nowhere; Hank hadn't even heard his office door open or close. Never the less, he stood, holding out a hand for a handshake.

"Hank Fo-"

"I have been kept waiting for nearly three quarters of an hour. I will skip pleasantries." Hank wilted once again, slowly descending back into his chair. Alexander reached a long arm out to the side and pulled a chair over for him to sit down in, the cheap plastic construction creaking under his weight. "Do you remember Seras Victoria?" The Captain's fearful expression disappeared instantly, and he grinned.

"Of course! Kitten was such a gal to have around the station, always full of energy and ready to help whenever she was needed." The grin faltered. "Pity she quit a month after she started. She'd just graduated, too; Dean and Dale needed her around to keep them from bickering, and I think Timothy had a sweet spot for her. Why do you ask?" Anderson's expression gave nothing away, but he reached out. Hank wondered if he was about to be choked in his own office by one hand of an incredibly large priest, but instead the paladin only adjusted the nameplate on the desk, straightening it.

"Did she have a file?" Anderson looked up from the nameplate, fixing a hard stare with Hank.

"Y-Yes, of course. All of our personnel have their information documented-excuse me, but-"

"Get it for me."

"_Excuse me,_ Father." Hank's voice turned harsh. "But I would like to know why you seek the personal information of an ex-employee of a police department. I cannot simply give out that information without good reason." Anderson's fingers twitched, _longing_ to flick out a bayonet and whisper, as menacing as he could manage; _here's a good reason. _But he didn't. He maintained a calm, for he was dealing with a regular human; no reason to go Judas Priest on him, whether or not he'd kept Alexander waiting 45 minutes.

"She has recently come into my c-care, and I find I know next to nothing about her past, other than the fact she worked here." He gagged. _Good God; __**care?**__ That's a laugh; to care for a vampire would be to lay with the devil. I'll have to wash my mouth, later._

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

"Jan Valentine! Make your phone call!" Jan jumped from his chair and swaggered over to the man who'd called him, who held up a phone. The vampire took it and poked in ten digits, waiting for the call to go through.

"Hello?"

"Luke! Hey, it's Jan."

"Oh, Jan…Where've you been? I was planning to go-"

"Nevermind that, bro." Jan glanced around a moment to make sure no one was listening in before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Some Paladin named Alexander Anderson's here in the precinct, says he'll kill me when he's done talking to their Captain. Gotta bust me out, fast." There was a long, awkward pause.

"You got arrested again?"

"Yes! I got arrested again!" Luke's laughter grated on Jan's ears. "I'm not shitting you, Luke. He's a big scary lug, said he'd turn me into shish kabob."

"I'm sure he's not that big of a deal." Jan rolled his eyes.

"He crushed all the bones in my hand with a handshake. _Easily._" Another pause.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." The phone disconnected, and Jan returned to his seat, decidedly uncomfortable and fidgeting constantly.

_I hope you hurry up, bro. That guy's no slouch. _

* * *

_Back with Hank and Alexander…_

"Come into your care?" Hank cocked his head to the side. "Come into your care-what-what is that supposed to mean?" Anderson returned the gesture.

"She was homeless. You didn't know?" The Captain shrugged, absentmindedly shuffling the papers on his desk.

"I would have thought she'd move in with her boyfriend; Pip Bernadotte. A wise guy, comes in every once in a while to be tossed into the drunk tank, and whenever he comes out in the morning he's got all their money, somehow. Thought they were going steady. You haven't gotten any word from him?"

"None whatsoever." _Probably cut ties with him once she realized what she was. _Their eyes met, and Anderson let out a quiet grunt. "The file?"

"Yes, yes. I suppose living with you is reason enough." Hank had stood and walked over to a filing cabinet, opened it, and pulled one out. "I think is…yep, this is it." He walked back over to the priest, holding it out. "She was only here for a month. That's a basic bio, background, record, you name it."

"Record?" Hank nodded, opening the file.

"Several counts of aggravated assault when she was younger, at an orphanage. Never charged; too young, and the courts pitied her." He frowned, sitting back in his chair behind the desk. "Apparently she was terrible with bullies and other kids. Anyone she didn't know was bad news. Of course, that's what'll happen to you when, well..." He trailed off, looking dejected, stood back up and walked over to the door. "You can keep that file, Father." He opened the door. "Return it when you've finished it, and that'll do." The priest stood, nodding, and walked out the room, flicking the file up his sleeve for safe keeping. He could find out what the Captain had been about to say later; right now there was a more pressing matter of a vampire that wasn't impaled by his blessed blades.

As he turned the corner he spotted Jan sitting in his chair, the vampire's gaze flickering in his direction every few seconds. When their eyes met Jan hopped from his chair, shouting something incoherent at one of the nearby policemen. It was obvious what he was doing; attracting attention so Anderson wouldn't risk killing him. The priest almost laughed; it wouldn't work. The paladin strode directly towards him and a massive gloved palm attached itself to the side of Jan's face. Anderson glanced at the guard.

"He would like to confess his sins in private." The guard, a fat fuck who clearly didn't give a damn, nodded, not even looking in their direction. Even as the warrior priest dragged him away, Jan continued shouting and yelling until a second palm clapped over his mouth. _"Silence."_ They moved down an empty hallway and eventually reached a back exit, at which Anderson gave Jan a rough kick in the back, sending him flying through the door and sprawling onto the ground of a back alley. The vampire spun around, sweating visibly.

"Hey, Alex, buddy-I know we aren't exactly the best of friends-"

"I _said," _Alexander snarled, whipping out two bayonets and flipping them around in his hands, "_Silence!"_ One of the blades went straight through Jan, pinning him to the ground. The other went through his throat, silencing the scream that would have escaped his lips. His mouth moved in words that were surely insults and blasphemous curses, and Anderson relished the raw fear showing in Jan's eyes. He swung out several more bayonets and impaled Jan further; through the abdomen, the thighs, the hands, the feet, and eventually, with great zeal, through the heart. The lips were starting to slow down. With one final blade, Anderson removed Jan's head and kicked it across the alley into the wall, causing it to explode in a splatter of blood and brain matter. But he wasn't finished, even if the vampire was dead. He slashed the body to bits, and then stomped on it for good measure, before he turned and walked out of the alley. Several spots of blood were visible on his face, but he'd avoided getting his cassock soaked in the stuff; only a few new stains were discernible, and none of them too big.

He sighed, cracking his neck and looking up at the sky. _Feels good to let out some stress. _He flipped out his cell phone, one that he'd acquired after he'd destroyed the last one, and speed-dialed #2.

"Hey, Anderson, Iscariot Division. I need a cleanup in a back alley on…" He looked behind himself, admiring his handiwork. "Cleanup in the alley behind the 5th precinct." Comfirmation was given; the Vatican cleanup crew would be on their way within two minutes, and the mess would have never happened.

_In the precinct, roughly five minutes later…_

"Jan Valentine? He should be sitting over there."

"I've already checked that area, mam'm ; he's _not there. _That begs the question; _where is he?" _The secretary shrugged, and Luke barely resisted reaching out and throttling her. Instead, he spun away from her and hissed air out his nose. Times like these being a vampire could come in handy; extra-sensitive sense of smell. He took a sniff, caught a whiff, and followed. He knew what his brother smelled like; he had to track him down plenty times before when he'd gotten into mischief. But at the moment Luke smelled something else accompanying his brother's scent; _blood._

Making use of his unnaturally high speed, superhuman even by Vampiric standards, he warped out of the office, down the hallway, and kicked the door off its hinges. As it flew across the alleyway it slammed against a man in a HEV suit, turning him into a bloody pulp on the wall. A quick scan of the surroundings informed Luke there were several other men in the alleyway, and in less than five seconds they were all dead, shredded by his knife. It was obvious what they'd been doing by the instruments they held in their cold, dead hands; cleaning up. Some of them had ammonia canisters, some of them had towels to wipe down blood. He turned, and walked back to his brother's eviscerated body. Sure enough, it was beginning the decomposition all vampires went through when they died; turning to a sandy ash pile on the ground. The face was still visible, mutilated as it was, though; he had not burned, but suffered a slow death.

"Millenium didn't even activate his self-destruct…" Luke's nose wrinkled in disgust, and he punched the wall, struggling to contain his rage. A large crater formed where his fist landed. He needed an outlet. Killing the Vatican cleanup crew wasn't enough. _Revenge,_ that's what he wanted. With shaking fingers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, straining to not crush it in his grip as he dialed a number. A deep voice answered his call. "Finnegan." As he spoke, he walked out of the alleyway with rigid strides. "Get Morrison. I want you to slay a priest for me; a Father Alexander Anderson. Yes, here, in New York. Find out where he lives, burn his house to the ground, and make sure he's _dead._ Be cautious. He was strong enough to kill Jan like he was nothing more than a _rat._" The final sentence stung on his tongue, and he snapped the phone shut and threw it as hard as he could at the ground; it _exploded._ The people on the street around him moved away, fearing another violent outburst.

But he did not lash out. He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and gave a slight smile. _Morrison, that schizoid with the firebombs, will take care of Anderson. I can relax. _He looked behind himself into the alleyway. _I'll avenge you, Jan. Just give me a little time. _The ashes were already fading with the wind; soon there would be no trace of Jan Valentine except blood splatter and memories. Luke spun on his heel and walked down the street, intent on feasting to quench both his thirst and his rage until he passed out.

_It's hot._ Seras rolled around under her covers, squirming with the heat. _Why's it so hot? IT wasn't this hot earlier. It's like I'm in a furnace._ Irritated and sweltering, she threw the sheets off of herself and revealed the flames all around her.

"Oh, shit." A loud creaking sound from above caught her attention and she scrambled to the side just fast enough to avoid being crushed by a falling rafter. Instinctively she stayed low to the floor, trying to stay under the dense smoke that made her eyes water and her lungs burn, and moved towards the door. Though she didn't actually need to breathe, the instinct to do so hadn't worked out of her system yet from being alive; her lungs filled with smoke and ash and she coughed as she finally made it through the doorway. The door to the street was at the end of the hall, opened. A man stood there, carrying Molotov cocktails in both hands. Their eyes met, and she scuttled to her feet and jumped to avoid one of the flaming concoctions.

"Stay still!" The man shouted, the sound muffled from the gas mask he wore. IT was only by an inch Seras dodged the second cocktail, having to fall backwards to let it sail over her nose. When she landed, on her back, her head injury became apparent once more; her vision swam, and all her senses became muddled. But she knew she had to get out of there. Either that, or burn. With what little strength she had, she staggered to her feet and moved towards the now empty doorway; the man had run off. But he'd left a little present for whoever stayed behind, one that went _beep, beep, beep._ The Draculina moved with as much speed as she could muster, managing to make it out onto the street to sprawl onto the sidewalk before an explosion rocked the block. A gout of flames shot right over her head.

When the bright light above her faded, she stood to wobbly feet, her head spinning like a merry-go-round. All the people around her were in a state of panic, screaming about terrorist attacks and the fire currently spreading to the next door neighbors. No one seemed to notice her, even as the Firefighters arrived and began the arduous process of dousing the flames. She wiped her face with her sleeve, and looked around for any sign of her current host. But a shout from above drew her attention.

A familiar face with a gas mask glared at her from across the street, up on the roof of the opposite building, holding several Molotov cocktails in his hands. Three, in each hand, the necks of the bottles between his fingers.

"_I am Morrison!"_ He shouted, raising them high before spinning around in a carefully executed circle, sending bottles flying and exploding all around him. One of them went sailing past Seras to her left, nailing a Firefighter in the back, one who had just approached the building with the hose. The hose subsequently went on an uncontrolled rampage, and started soaking everything it could, whipping around like a wild horse. Morrison continued dishing out fire like it was going out of style, and anyone who hadn't already run screaming for their lives was currently doing so.

Including Seras.

* * *

_With Luke…_

"FINNEGAAAAAAAN!" Luke roared, turning from the TV screen with still bloody jaws; he'd just feasted upon several teenage girls in their own house, and then their mother and aunt. His tongue swirled around his lips, the abnormally long appendage ridding his face of any sign of the atrocity he'd committed, before he stormed out into the street. His clothes were bloody, but he would not have any problems as long as he moved swiftly; something he was quite good at. There was a literal flash of pink, the combination of blood red and his suit's alabaster white, shooting down the street. It was invisible to all but the keenest of eyes, and even those thought they'd seen something.

Within two minutes, he was breaking down the door of his…What exactly _was_ Finnegan's job, anyways? He cleaned up after Luke, he did jobs for Luke, he got deals on the black market for Luke, he knew anyone who knew anything and could get anyone to do anything for him on threat of extortion; he was the ultimate handyman, and he was in Luke's pocket. The vampire jack of all trades was sitting calmly on his couch with a beer bottle full of blood, absentmindedly sipping it as he watched the chaos unfolding on the news. A loud shattering of glass was heard; the bottle flying across the room and impacting with the wall.

"Hey, I'm not cleaning that up." He said, pointing. Luke grabbed him by the collar, barely coherent in his savage snarling.

_"I wanted Morrison to kill Anderson. Burn his house down."_ He pointed a gloved finger at the TV screen, the current image displaying Morrison spinning on top of a roof with bombs flying out of his hands and creating oblivion where they landed. _"Why, oh __**why**__ is he wreaking havoc in the streets?" _Finnegan met Luke's glare with one of his own, and gave the blonde a rough shove to remove hands from his collar. He stood, patting himself off.

"Morrison's a loose cannon. You know that. You wanted him to do the job, I told him to do the job; now he's just gathering bonus points." He cracked a grin, dodging Luke's half-assed attempt to knock his block off. His face lost all jovial expression. "I've got to do twenty more calls for you, and then we're through."

"Yes, yes…" Luke sighed, turning around and waving a hand in dismissal. "Your daughter will be returned, safe, and sound." He turned back around. "God knows she's a handful for the soldiers. I heard three of them have died."

"Oh. Isn't that a shame." The sarcasm was dripping off the last word, and they both knew it.

"Quite. Vampiric children are a handful. Nevertheless, you can complete another one of those calls this minute." Luke pointed to the screen, and gnashed the next four words out of his fangs. _"Clean up this mess."_

"I'll make the call." The handyman spun on his heel and marched over to an old style telephone, one that required spinning the number dial. He gave it several spins, and then spoke once more. "Hello, Archer. This is Finnegan. Remember that time you stole from the Russians, and that other time you killed the president? Mm-hmm. I think I'll call in that favor, now."

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_With Anderson…_

The priest was unaware of the people swarming around him, too entrapped within the file he currently held in his hands. He only looked up to check if the walk signals were active, and continued his strides down the street.

What the Captain had been talking about earlier, what had happened to Seras Victoria to make her, "Dispassionate towards others," and carry out, "Seven cases of aggravated assault," at the age a child should be entering middle school, was now before his eyes.

_"Father, Daryl Victoria, undercover in the high profile gang Z-23. Upon 'getting in too deep' his infiltration was discovered and was brutally murdered in his home by several gang members; according to coroner the cause of death was several shots to the abdomen. Wife attempted to execute vengeance, once again according to coroner the cause of death was a shotgun blast to the temple; death instantaneous. Seras describes viewing the necrophilia occurring between a gang member and her dead mother, and her attempt of attack; the gang member, who was apprehended for a robbery some time later, revealed that; "The little bitch stuck me in the eye with a fucking __**fork.**__ A fucking __**FORK.**__" This attempt did not garner any long term results; Seras received a bullet wound in her lower abdomen, one that thankfully missed any vital organs, and was rescued sometime later."_

He snapped the file shut and flicked it up his sleeve, sighing. That explained a little bit of her past, the fighting with other children. Somewhere along the way she'd bucked up and stopped being so afraid, but her past was still there. Anderson grit his teeth at what he was thinking.

I do not sympathize with demons. That past is what she held while still alive; it changes nothing now that she is a heartless, evil, monstrous…why is everyone running? He swung an arm out and grabbed someone random. Middle aged woman, rather attractive, but currently sporting the expression of someone scared for their life. "Woman. Why are you running?"

In answer, she simply pointed behind her, towards where he was walking. He let her go, his jaw going slack at the sight of flames engulfing the streets before him.

Particularly, the street he lived on.

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